


Chronicles

by Vexfulfolly



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexfulfolly/pseuds/Vexfulfolly
Kudos: 1





	Chronicles

Declan’s first memory is of his brother. Of Easton, sitting in his lap at two years old, saying, “Declan, Declan, Declan, Declan.” He had been working on getting it right— he always forgot to say the “L”— and to say he was pleased with his new, correct pronunciation would be an understatement. 

Declan, at five and taking his responsibilities as Big Brother seriously, kisses Easton’s tuft of smooth, dark hair and parrots back to him, “Easton, Easton, Easton, Easton, Easton.” 

It feels like it’s only months later that Easton is whining and pulling on his sleeve as they walk side-by-side along the road. “Declan. Declan, slow down!” 

“Why don’t you hurry up?” Declan grins, offering the boy a grin over his shoulder. Declan, despite his talk, still slows down enough for Easton’s tiny legs to keep pace. 

The funny thing is, Hazel looks nothing like her brothers, who look nothing like their parents— neither of which are raven haired. 

Genetics are a fun little lottery that makes family photos look fake. When it’s the whole extended family the boys don’t look out of place, only when it’s their close family do their differences show. Declan looks like Uncle Max, or so _everyone_ says. Easton just looks like Easton; he’s always been special. He does have Mom’s eyes, but so does Hazel— caramel brown. Declan’s are paler. 

Papa takes to Hazel, his little girl, more than he ever did to the boys. Declan— who was six when she was born— asks her later in life, because he’s pretty sure he’d’ve noticed if Papa’d cooed over Easton like that. Hazel just laughed and told him, “That’s just how dads are with their daughters.”

Mom’s work takes them to Tennessee when Declan is eleven, for nine months. He and Easton soak up the accent the same way they pick up games—playing in the street—and take to speaking in slang when they don’t want Papa to understand. Papa will always respond in some mish-mash of French-Canadian jargon that’s so complicated Declan barely understands. The only thing that comes of it is an addition to his vocabulary. 

The first time Declan uses Papa’s words against him, it makes him laugh in a way that gets Easton laughing too. Mom doesn’t get it at first, and has to wait until Papa stops wheezing for him to translate; Mom starts laughing too. 

As they continue to move across the country— and country lines— Declan picks up reading: everything from _Gatsby_ , to _The Flash,_ to John Green. It doesn’t take long before Easton starts crawling into Declan’s bed and begs him to read him a story (it takes even less time for Hazel to join the party too). Reading about monsters and aliens is easier for the two kids to understand than the complexities of _Hamlet_ or time travel. Declan saves those stories for the scant moments he’s alone. 

Hazel is Daddy’s Girl, that’s just how it is. Declan has always gravitated more towards Mom—they have a lot in common, even if they hardly look alike. Easton, on the other hand, always goes straight for his older brother with everything he needs. Even though he’s eleven now, he still asks Declan to read to him—usually just whatever he’s reading when Easton comes to find him. Last year they read _To Kill a Mockingbird_ together because Declan’s English class required him to read it. The summer before Declan turns sixteen they read _Lord of the Flies_ , and Declan puts on the voices to make Easton laugh, so Easton buys him the movie for his birthday. 

Declan works at Starbucks, the summer before his junior year and on into the school year, and pretty much flirts— overtly and poorly—with every female customer, ages fifteen to eighty, who doesn’t look totally uncomfortable when he smiles and asks if he can take their order. His boss, who thinks he’s absolutely hilarious, swears up and down that he sells more blueberry scones than any pretty boy has a right to. Declan just bats his eyelashes and grins and says, “Aw, you think I’m pretty?”

She throws a muffin at his head and tells him (sadly) she’s married, and he laughs his way out of her office to go pick up East and Haze from summer camp. 

Declan doesn’t ever hit his growth spurt. He grows steadily, avoiding all aches and pains, until he hits 5’11”, and then, infuriatingly, stops, just one inch shy of the six feet it would take to put him on level Papa.

It makes him a very hot commodity throughout high school and college, where most of the sixteen-to-twenty-year-old boys are spindly-looking or dripping in grease. 

His high school career is entirely made up of being popular-adjacent, playing lacrosse (but never really makes it off the bench), and doing rather mediocre in English. Declan only has one serious girlfriend during his tenure as an upperclassman; if he was being honest, though, what they had wasn’t entirely serious. Evita was nice, really— she was— but she wasn’t one to stick around. 

Every night is punctuated with fewer stories, more silent car rides, and homework filled hours. It isn’t until Declan is scrawling a calculus problem onto his paper when Hazel climbs into his lap, and tucks her copper head of curls under his chin. She’s way too big to sit in his lap like this, but something as petty as that has never stopped her before. “Declan.”

“What’s up, kiddo?” he asks, absently. 

“Easton says you have a girlfriend.”

For some reason, Declan’s stomach drops, and he now _intimately_ understands the awkwardness of his parents on topics like these. Declan vows to never bring up the conversation again, while Hazel chooses to make eyes at him any time a topic even _tangential_ to their conversation arises. 

Declan takes for granted everything before he heads off to college. Even though Mom has gotten frail and Papa has become forgetful, every moment something he wished he could photograph and take with him. His last night before moving into the dorms, boxes strewn around his room, Easton shambles in. Declan had been staring at the ceiling, overcome with nerves, and was more than happy to have the distraction. 

“Declan, are you awake?” Easton hissed. 

“Yeah. What do you need?”

It’s quiet for a moment, long enough for Declan to prop himself up and stare at the door out of fear that he was dreaming. 

“Will you read to me?” Easton whispers. And never before had Declan been moved by such a childish question. He’s already moving over in his bed, blankets strewn across the mattress, when Easton crawls in next to him. He doesn’t even need to ask ‘what book,’ because Easton is pushing the _Lord of the Flies_ into his chest. 

“‘ _The boy with fair hair lowered himself down…”_

And Declan felt the anxiety ease, and his eyelids droop. He felt relief.


End file.
